


Red

by VesperNexus



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Ending to 1x02 - Single Point of Failure, Alternate Ending to S01E02, Fluff and Angst, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2438123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperNexus/pseuds/VesperNexus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if things went differently at the end of 1x02? </p><p>Time seems to still for a moment and Toby feels a numbness crawl along his arms. He’s unmoving, unspeaking, holding his breath unconsciously as he watches the unrealistic scene in front of him. He barely registers the loud shot which reverberates around the room, sound bouncing of the walls like the unsuspecting beat of drums. All he sees is Walter stumbling back, eyes widening ever so slightly as something akin to surprise washes over his features briefly, as if he’s only just noticed the gaping hole in his torso.</p><p>What if Richtor had pulled out a gun instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Folks. So, I recently watched Scorpion and my, my, if that isn't one of the most fabulous shows of the year. I absolutely love the characters, the plot, the chemistry. Here's a little something with your typical teaspoon of angst, fluff, hurt/comfort and injured lead.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Scorpion or any of it's characters. If I did, I'd be doing more than writing Fanfiction.

**Red**

No one expects it.

The move is so quick and sudden that it catches all of them off guard. For a single split second, all Toby is able to do is watch in stunned horror as Richtor reaches into his jacket.

He feels his breath catch in his throat, lips parting for a moment as the assailant pulls something metal and glints in the bright lightening in the mall. It takes only a moment for Toby to connect the dots, for less to hear his own voice echoing in his ears as he yells at Walter to _move, damn it!_

But it’s too late, because the weapon’s resting uncomfortably in his palm and it’s pointing at Walter, and all Toby’s best friend is able to do is freeze as he notices the gun. And then it’s like a nightmare, like a chaotic surreal dream he just wants to wake from, because it’s when Richtor pulls the trigger.

Time seems to still for a moment and Toby feels a numbness crawl along his arms. He’s unmoving, unspeaking, holding his breath unconsciously as he watches the unrealistic scene in front of him. He barely registers the loud shot which reverberates around the room, sound bouncing of the walls like the unsuspecting beat of drums. All he sees is Walter stumbling back, eyes widening ever so slightly as something akin to surprise washes over his features briefly, as if he’s only just noticed the gaping hole in his torso.

And then the first spots of crimson begin to dye his shirt, and he’s stumbling back feet so unsteady they seem to be made from lead. Toby doesn’t even feel his legs move as he rushes forth to his friend with a speed that would have surprised him ordinarily. But right now, there’s only one thing in his mind, and it flashes in angry colours behind his eyes when Walter begins to pitch backwards.

He only just makes it in time, not registering the trembling in his limbs as he gently cradles his friend’s back and lowers him to the floor with as much stability as he can muster with unsteady limbs. His mind is moving a mile a minute and his arms are shaking, fingers unstill as they brush against lean shoulders when he finds his voice,

“Walter? Walter!?” His tone is high in pitch and his breathing is uneven when he speaks, lowering Walter to lie against his chest as they collapse to the floor together. “Help! _Someone do something!_ ”

There’s suddenly a flurry of movement, but all Toby knows is that Walter’s shirt’s becoming red and he’s arching against him in pain, uncertain hands quickly moving to find the wound. “Walt? Hey man, come on Walter-”

Toby’s hands leave Walter to lean against him and find the seeping hole in his abdomen, fingers covering the injured man’s. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what he should do or how he should do it, because Walter’s been shot and there’s blood seeping in a steady flow from in between his fingers, and it’s warm and Walter’s hands are becoming cold and the fabric’s becoming _soaked_ and-

“-Walter, hey _man, hey-_ ”

The world is silent, yet his voice seems unnaturally magnified against his ears as he calls for Walter to _hang_ on, and he doesn’t know how to deal with _this,_ with people being _shot,_ with Walter- with Walter-

Happy’s there, knelt beside them with unconcealed panic painting his features with parted lips are large eyes. She looks as afraid as he feels, and her mouth is moving, she’s saying _something_ , but Toby’s hands are plastered on Walter’s chest being soaked in his blood and he can’t hear a _thing._

Someone’s calling for the medics to hurry, and Walter’s becoming a steadily heavier weight against him. His bright eyes are beginning to droop and with great alarm, Toby notices his quickly paling ashen skin. His breaths are becoming shallower, and there’s blood on his bottom lip where he’s bitten through it because of the pain. All Toby can feel is his hands soaked in red warmth, and the slowing movements of Walter’s finger’s beneath his own as they press dearly against the perilous wound together. At some point Happy presses something against their hands, like a jacket or otherwise, but it’s becoming red as quickly as Toby’s hands.

No more than a minute could have passed before Toby meets Walter’s eyes, light fading from them and eyelids lowering, reflective of a deep pain and hopelessness. He can faintly feel his jeans being soaked in his friend’s blood as it collects in beneath them as a puddle on the mall floor, and pushes back the nausea of kneeling in Walter’s life force.

And then a medic kneels beside them, followed by another, and Toby’s hands and Happy’s jacket are peeled away. They push him from his kneeling position with not much care and take his place,

“- _stretcher, get him on to the stretcher!_ ”

“ _Move, move, move- he’s losing too much blood, he’s going to flat-line if we don’t-_ ”

It takes them two minutes to lay Walter onto the floor, blood pooling at an alarming rate beneath him. His eyes fall shut, and if it weren’t for the hands pulling and keeping him up, Toby’s legs would have buckled already.

When the medics finally get him onto the stretcher, a non-descript man in bright uniform and a stern older woman whom Toby pays very little attention to, Walter’s life seemed to have slipped from his veins. Toby doesn’t have to look around to see the devastated looks everyone’s got which mirror his, doesn’t have to look around to see the fear as they avoid watching Walter’s arm slip to lie limply by the stretcher- as pale and blood-soaked as the rest of him.

And then he’s being carried out and they’re all rushing after the medics, watching with wide eyes tainted with disbelief as he’s loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance. The vehicle’s speeding away before Toby can speak a single word, before he can let out a breath, before-

Something moves in the corner of his eye, and suddenly, everything’s pushed to the back of his mind.

It’s Richtor; being led away by officials, and for a moment, all Toby can see is Walter soaked in blood with his life draining from him in his arms. For a moment, he doesn’t think about rushing after the ambulance and spending hours in the waiting room with worry and panic weighing heavily on his mind. For a moment, the fear subsides and the surrealism of the situation fades, and all he can see is red.

It’s like he’s moving through torrents of water when his legs rush forth and he lunges at the man.

He lets out a deep growl from the back of his throat in a voice he barely recognises, and aims for Richtor’s throat with his blood-soaked hands.

“Toby!” A pair of hands, and then another, pull at his arms before he reaches the man, “ _Toby-”_ He recognises Sylvester’s distressed tone and his sudden anger only heightens.

He struggles in Sylvester and Gallo’s hold, reaching out angrily,

“You _bastard-_ you god-damn _bastard,_ if he-” his breath leaves him as quickly as his words, “if he-” they’re slower, and all of the sudden it’s like the energy has just been drained so completely out of him. This time, when Walter’s bloodied, lifeless form flashes before his eyes all he feels is helplessness and defeat. “If he...” He can’t finish the sentence, even though they all know what he’s about to say. He leans back limply into his friend’s hold and feels his hat cast shadows along his eyes.

“God damn it.” He finishes brokenly, and tilts his head up as he watches the others and takes them in. Gallo’s let go of him, after a minute, only to leave an unexpected reassuring hand on his shoulder, frame hunched over and eyes glazed. Beside him, Sylvester, for all his bravery and cleverness, seems to be barely holding it together, if the severe shaking of his fingers is anything to go by.

Happy’s there too, leant against the wall and biting her nail with an inch to its life, jacket dyed red and clenched so tightly in one hand her knuckles had turned white. Toby doubted she even felt it.

When he felt his emotions begin to settle slightly, and the red faded almost completely from his vision, he noticed Paige- courageous, social Paige who just watched her friend get shot. Her hands were by her mouth but she determinedly kept the tears at bay, bangs falling to cover her eyes.

Toby looked around at the chaos, watching the door close behind Richtor as he was escorted into the car door, watching the tire tracks left by the ambulance carrying Walter, watching people rushing in and out of the mall in panic. Toby looked around and saw his team falling apart without their leader.

“God damn it.” He whispers again, only this time, no one hears it.

*

The ride to the hospital is quiet. After Happy had given her blood soaked jacket to an agent to use as evidence, they’d all filed into Gallo’s car silently.

Sylvester doesn’t say much, besides shutting down the agent when he’d suggested they go home first to clean up, because, after all, _it could be hours._

The reaction had been immediate. There was one thing they all wanted more than to leave and change from their bloodied clothing, to rest their trembling limbs and panicking minds for a moment, and that was to see Walter. To see Walter out of those red clothes, not as pale as winter, and _breathing._

Sylvester’s mind is one of the fastest in the world. He knows he has incredible control over his brain, but this- this is just… this once, he wishes he hadn’t an eidetic memory. He wishes he couldn’t calculate every single potentiality of that damn moment. He doesn’t want to see Richtor pull a gun, doesn’t want to hear the bullet spin from its chamber and echo loudly as it’s fired, doesn’t want to see his best friend stumble from the force with pain lacing his features as he pitches backwards.

And yet, the scene is playing in his head from different angles, different sides, different perspectives, like a broken record. He can’t help but figure out the other probabilities, the chances, the possibilities of how it could have all gone so differently. How they could’ve been faster, reacted faster, just _moved,_ how they could have prevented this.

So for the rest of the ride, he says nothing. He leans back into his seat and lays his head on the window, eyes reflecting images of the mall. He does his best to ignore the anxiety pounding on his chest like a set of drums, and instead tries to concentrate on something else. Something like the traffic and buildings as they quickly move past them in a blur of colours.

It doesn’t last long.

Paige can’t seem to stay still beside him, and on the other side Happy has taken to bouncing her foot up and down repeatedly. Even Gallo seems on edge as they stop at the traffic light, the sun’s rays reflecting on the dark sunglasses he’s wearing. Sylvester supresses a sigh and places a hand on his forehead, as if in attempt to push away the light pounding growing in his right temple.

Toby’s the only one who seems quiet, a great change from what they’d all seen before. It had taken Sylvester all of two moments to register when the behaviourist had lunged at Richtor, and another to react and draw him away from the obviously shocked man before he could rip a limb off.

The incident had put them all on edge, or more on edge than they already were, which was an accomplishment in itself. None of them wanted to think about what this meant, what this could mean. What if Walter- what if-

And hence, Sylvester’s curse. Nothing he could do would stop the statistics and percentages racing through his mind. Nothing he could possibly do would stop his brain measuring Walter’s chances of survival, from that range, at that speed, with that reaction. Nothing he could do would stop him figuring out how likely it was that Walter would live with the hole in his chest, or how likely he wouldn’t.

He subconsciously bangs his head against the window in a futile attempt to stop his thought process, when-

“He’ll be alright.”

It comes from a quiet voice, quieter than he’s ever heard Happy speak before. There’s something in her tone, too, something like a trembling, stubborn certainty which keeps the light in her eyes.

The tension in the car increases tenfold, and Sylvester finally finds his voice,

“Yeah…” Although it cracks a little, and it lacks the conviction the mechanical prodigy seems to carry with her, it’s the best he can muster with his friend’s bloody and limp figure dancing behind his eyes.

“He _will._ ” She says again, a little louder and with a hint of anger. Beside him, Paige turns to face her slightly unsurely, “He’s Walter. He’ll be just _fine._ ”

“He was _shot, for god’s sake, Happy!_ ”

Sylvester jumps a little, and the agent at the front tenses. Toby’s voice is sudden and a touch lower than a yell, but in the small, confined space, they all understand the meaning behind his words. The headache beats behind Sylvester’s eyes a little harder.

Happy takes a moment to look entirely offended, and the computer genius feels something cold uncurl in his stomach. God, not now, not _now-_

“What the hell are you saying then Toby? That we should just give _up_!?” her reply is incredulous and next to him Paige’s features become slightly more worried, like she can sense the storm that’s about to erupt.

“ _Of course not!_ I’m just saying we can’t be _naive_ , Happy!”

“Naïve? _Naïve?_ Are you for real right now? Are you actually serious?!” Happy practically yells back, leaning forth in her seat so far she’s practically on the edge. “He isn’t going to _die-_ ”

“We _can’t kn_ -”

“You know what Toby? Why don’t you take your _pessimism_ and shov-”

“ _Enough!”_

The shout is loud and reverberates around the confined metal space, stopping everyone in their tracks. In the front, Gallo’s chest is heaving and there’s more than just tension to the set of his shoulders. He’s holding onto the wheel so tightly his knuckles have turned white, almost as white as Walter’s skin when-

“ _Enough._ We don’t know the entire situation. We don’t know what’s happened since they drove away in the ambulance. I will _not_ have either of you making dangerous assumptions. The best we can do now is pray, god damn it, we can pray and hope and that’s what we’ll do. Walter _isn’t_ dead until we hear otherwise, is that understood?” The silence in the car has suddenly become deafening. “Is that _understood_?”

No one says a thing but Paige, who faintly nods to herself and speaks in a voice so low Sylvester has to strain his ears to hear it.

“Walter isn’t dead.”

He momentarily pushes the overwhelming fear and panic threatening to seize his chest and holds on to those words, finally able to ignore the damn statistics and possibilities streaming through his brain. He puts up with the banging in his head and remembers that until they know more, Walter will be fine.

And damn if that isn’t as certain as Schrodinger’s cat, but it’s all they have right now.

The rest of the car ride is past in silence.

*

Happy’s paced over the same spot so many times, an irrational part of her fears that she may be on her way to digging grooves into the floor.

Her heart won’t slow down, and her nerves are beyond her control. There’s something like a deep-seeded anxiety pressing against her chest so forcefully she almost feels breathless. Of course, that’s accompanied by a dangerous anger simmering just beneath her skin.

_How could Toby say that?_

She feels her nails dig deeper into her palm at the thought. How could he just insinuate that Walter- that Walter wouldn’t be just...?

_He was shot-_

Lots of people get shot, Happy knows. She’s seen it on television, she’s seen it in movies, she’s read about it in books, and now she’s got a real life experience too. She knows what this means. Maybe not to the extent Sylvester does, where he’s no doubt able to calculate _everything_ about the scene- including Walter’s chances- but she refuses to just _give up._

_Naïve-_

She isn’t being naïve; she’s just not being pessimistic. She knows people have survived worse, and she knows this is something Walter will survive. This is just a setback, this is just a _mistake_ , this is-

This is real.

Happy falters in her steps for a moment, and reality slowly washes over her. She can hear Paige yelling for medics, she can see Sylvester paralysed with shock, she can smell the blood pooling around her friend’s stilling figure, she can feel Toby’s trembling hands as he leans Walter against him and tries to stop the blood from streaming past his fingers in rivets. The loud alarms of the ambulance echo in her head when she thinks about all the _red_ , when she realises she knows how much blood is in the human body and how much without is a dangerous amount. She remembers what Toby had said to Walter when he’d leant against the behaviourist limply, _hang on Walt,_ and _God_ , this is so messed up.

They were geniuses, they hacked computers and stopped viruses and calculated impossibilities. They didn’t get _shot_ by madmen. They didn’t lie in their friend’s arms with their life draining from their veins. They didn’t sign up for _this._

Except, maybe they had.

When Walter had found her, he had given her purpose. When he’d introduced her to Toby, they became a team. When they found Sylvester together from something they won’t ever mention, they functioned. Together they’d found a safe place, where genius wasn’t ridiculed, where she didn’t have to glance over her shoulder every few minutes. They found home.

And then Walter found Paige too, and Ralph, and he’d saved them both. Together they became _Scorpion,_ and maybe this is what it meant. Maybe it meant saving lives and getting shot at and actually _getting_ _shot._

She halts for a moment, and surveys the waiting room. Bland white walls and cushioned plastic chairs accommodating their entire team, even Gallo, who hadn’t returned home after he’d earlier suggested. He looked just as anxious as the rest of them.

Sylvester nursed a cup of coffee sweetened with too many sugars and stared ahead, as if he has trying really hard not to think about something. This time she was glad she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t sure she could handle all those blurry details coming into focus right now.

Paige sat beside Gallo, phone in her hand as she softly spoke to her neighbour asking her to take care of Ralph. The stress was evident in the lines of her face and the shadows beneath her eyes, only the faintest evidence of tear tracks marring a single cheek.

When she turns her head a little more, she sees Toby, hat falling forth to cover his eyes; head leant back against the chair. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought him asleep.

But just seeing him reminds her of the lunge at Richtor, and what they’d said to each other in the car, of the surrealism of the entire situation.

She doesn’t say a thing when she walks as casually as she’s able from the waiting room.

It doesn’t take her long to find the restroom, which she promptly enters with barely-contained anxiousness pounding in her veins. The bathroom is completely empty; something which she finds is extremely fortunate as she strides with large steps towards the wash basin and splashes cold water onto her face in a poor attempt to wash away the nervousness and exhaustion.

A moment later, she’s got her fingers curling on the edge of the porcelain with her arms leaning forth in an attempt to collect herself before she went out again, even closer to hearing the news that could possibly change _everything._

This was so _wrong._

It’s maybe a minute or two later when she’s convinced the anxiousness has subsided a little and her heart beats properly again that she prepares herself to leave- only to notice a shadow by her shoulder.

She pulls herself together quickly and turns around, glaring at Toby.

“You shouldn’t be here.” she says in a voice full of caution, and they both know she doesn’t mean _the lady’s waiting_ room. No, this is so much more.

“I know,” Toby replies just as softly, “I’m sorry.”

There’s a gentle sadness in his eyes that cause her features to soften a little, trying to fully grasp the meaning of his words.

“I never should have said what I did in the car,” he continues, “I just…”

He takes a deep breath, and Happy knows she’s never seen him this quiet and subtle before. It unnerves her.

Toby just shakes his head a little when she stays quiet, running his fingers over his face in evident exhaustion. He moves to the side a little and leans by her on the wall, concrete supporting most of his weight as he avoids her gaze and looks ahead.

“It’s just, earlier, when Richtor-” he pauses, and Happy feels something unpleasant uncurling in her chest. “When Richtor… _shot_ Walter,” the words seem almost too painful for him to say, “and I was holding him, right there in the mall, and his blood was _everywhere_ , I- I couldn’t-” Happy swallows when Toby’s eyes become a little moist, “All I could think was _here’s my friend, shot in the chest, dying._ ” Toby meets her eyes and she bites her lip so hard she fears she may draw blood, “I couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see or feel anything besides all that red and cold and Walter _closing his eyes-_ ”

She barely feels her arms or legs move, but the next thing she knows is that she’s wrapped Toby in a firm hug. He pushes off the wall slightly and returns it, head bowing slightly to rest on her shoulder where she can feel moisture collect.

When he speaks, it’s into the curve of her neck and neither of them moves,

“This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to us. It shouldn’t have happened to Walter, but _god,_ it did. It happened and he bled out and- do you know how much blood is in the human body? Do you know how much he lost? I…” he trails off momentarily, “I just can’t help but think if I’d gotten to him _sooner,_ if I’d moved _quicker,_ if-”

“ _Stop_.” She interrupts him, and uncurls her arms from his back slowly, only to place them gently on his shoulders and look deeply into the uncertainty dancing in his eyes. “Just _stop_ , Toby. What happened _happened_.” She takes a breath, “And you’re right. This stuff doesn’t happen to us, not usually anyway. But this time it did, it did and Walter got hurt- but he got hurt _helping_ people, and right now he’s getting the best treatment he can get. We can’t undo what happened, and we can’t _change_ it either. We can only stay strong because it’s what Walter would _want._ It’s what he’ll be doing.” Toby nods almost imperceptibly and she continues, “You couldn’t have prevented this, Toby. No one could have.”

He nods for a moment more and for a second she’s afraid he’d take all she’d said and file it away in some unimportant, never to be visited cabinet in his mind, but there’s a new assurance in his eyes now.

They walk out of the bathroom together, and avoid the strange look one of the nurses hurrying past shoots them.

“Thanks.” Toby mumbles just before they reach the others, and Happy forces a small smile she knows they both need.

“Sure thing.” She replies, although she doesn’t quite know if what she’d said had been more for Toby, or for her.

*

About an hour after Walter had gone into surgery, Paige leaves the hospital to pick up Ralph.

She explained to the others that her neighbour had work and couldn’t take care of her boy, and promptly left the hospital after Happy and Toby had returned from god knows where. She hadn’t said much, just offered a forced smile before leaving the others- almost rushing outside in need of fresh air.

When she finally made it outside of the hospital doors, she’d drawn in such a deep breath she had to release it before feeling faint. Her heart beat loudly in her chest and her hair fell limply across her features. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders, but she stubbornly made her legs move to Cabe’s car.

He’d handed her the keys right after she’d spoken, since her car was near the mall. She hadn’t protested. Just thinking about going back there sent shivers racing across her arms.

She pulls open the door of the vehicle and tries not to think about what had happened. It’s a futile attempt though, because every time she blinks, she can feel urgency in the air, panic, fear and suspense tainted the once comfortable confines in the car.

As she drives down the highway to Ralph’s school, she sees Walter pitch backwards in Toby’s arms as his shirt becomes rapidly stained with red. She’d never been in such close proximity to a bullet before, so she remembers the loud bang as it had echoed around the mall. Watching Toby press his hands against the bullet wound in Walter’s chest with barely-concealed panic, listening to the yells of voices bathed in fear, well, it’s not something she’s likely to forget any time soon.

Her knuckles turn white as she subconsciously tightens her hold on the steering wheel, taking a left sharper than necessary. Just the damn thought of Walter so vulnerable and in pain and _bleeding_ has tears blurring her vision at the corners.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Walter had always seemed so confident, so in control, so clever- like he could handle whatever the world threw at him. Walter, well, Walter was _strong._ Walter’s helping her, and he’s helping Ralph. In such a short time, he’d become such an important part of her life that this- this has just frayed her nerves _so much._

When she’d watched the scene unfold, a part of her mind had told her that this wasn’t happening, that this couldn’t be happening, that this was as surreal as it could possibly get. And then she was racing outside and watching the medic wipe Walter’s blood from his hands to his uniform. And then she got into Cabe’s car as he drove, and watched the trails of red her friend had left.

That, now, _that_ was what made it real.

Listening to Toby and Happy argue in the car, seeing Sylvester doing his best to blink away tears, feeling that the tension was so thick she could have choked on it if she’d taken a breath deep enough. That was real. Walter had been shot, and that was something she’d never forget.

She wipes her eyes with one hand and glances into the rear-view mirror, letting out a frustrated breath when she sees they’re red-rimmed and a little puffy. She knows that her voice will break a little when she speaks, and that her hands haven’t yet stopped trembling. God, she’ll have to explain this Ralph.

Her little boy thought so highly of Walter. Ralph had connected with the genius like he’d never connected with anyone before, including her. Walter and Ralph- they understood each other. Even with the others, it was like the two spoke a language only they could understand.

She wiped at her eyes futilely again. Walter would be fine. Happy had said it with so much conviction earlier, so she could too. Walter was strong, independent, able to rule the world if he wanted to. But he didn’t, he was a good person. He’d given her the opportunity to make more of her life, to give Ralph as much as he needed. Walter helped people, and he didn’t deserve this.  They didn’t deserve to have him torn away from them like this.

She snaps out of her reverie when she parks in front of Ralph’s school, not far from where her boy stood waiting.

“Hey.” She says when he steps in, his features giving away the slightest hint of confusion at the differing car.

It’s when he looks up at her, though, does he really frown. He takes a seat in the unfamiliar vehicle and straps himself in as she places a soft kiss on his cheek.

When they pull out of the school grounds, Ralph speaks in a light voice,

“What’s wrong?” He asks innocently, and for once part of Paige wishes her son wasn’t so perceptive. She takes in a soft breath and licks her dry lips.

“We’re going to the hospital, baby. Walter’s been hurt.”

Ralph’s demeanour changes immediately. He’s no longer cautious. Now, there are lines between his eyebrows, a light panic flurrying behind his eyes and a frown stretching her lips that no boy his age should have.

Paige knows that she’ll have to explain to him what had happened. She knows she’ll have to justify her tears and red-rimmed eyes. She can’t just tell her son that his friend was hurt by a bad man, because Ralph is so much smarter than that. She’ll tell him what happened, that Walter’s been shot, but she won’t tell him that Toby had lunged at Richtor with anger like she’d never seen before. She won’t tell him that Sylvester spent an hour pretending to drink a coffee that had to have been far too sweet whilst attempting to subtly wipe his eyes every few moments. She won’t say a thing about Gallo’s uncharacteristic silence or Happy’s ridiculous pacing.

She won’t say a thing about how Scorpion is falling apart.

She’s sure he’ll be able to figure it out when he sees them.

*

Cabe isn’t surprised when Paige returns with Ralph in half the time it would usually take this time of day.

He isn’t surprised when she hands him the keys with a grateful nod and sits beside him, Ralph climbing next to her and hugging his backpack to his chest. Happy, Sylvester and Toby force smiles for him, but even if Ralph wasn’t a genius, Cabe had no doubt he could see past the masks and into the deep tension, uncertainty, and only slightly diffused panic masking the air.

The Governor had called multiple times in the last two or so hours to ask about Walter’s condition, the man expressing his deepest gratitude and humblest apologies that he couldn’t be with them as they waited for news. He did, however, promise that he would visit the people who saved his and his daughter’s life, at the earliest possibility.

Richtor had been apprehended, and was being held in a jail cell, with the virus and any copies he’d made confiscated and handed over to the CDC. Cabe spent the better part of an hour making sure the arrangements were secure, the man to be put on yet another count of attempted murder.

Just the thought of it makes the agent’s blood run cold. When he’d first met Walter O’Brien, he showed pure genius, tremendous potential, and a blatant disregard for authority.

Now, when he thinks of the young man who’d saved so many lives and helped so many people, all he sees is Richtor’s bullet tearing through his flesh and his blood pooling across the mall floor.

Just the thought of it makes him shudder.

The minutes that tick by feel like forever. Everyone seems as restless as before, now with the addition of Ralph who’s just staring at the time ticking by on the clock stationed on the wall opposing them. Even he’s shifting about every now and then.

No one complains though, when Sylvester leaves around the three-hour mark and comes back with five large coffees and a small hot chocolate ten minutes later. That’s when they sit beside on another in the empty waiting room, drinking in silence and refusing to sleep because despite their evident exhaustion, Walter was in surgery getting a bullet dug out from his chest. If that isn’t motivation enough, than Cabe doesn’t know what is.

It’s maybe thirty minutes later when he’s stuck in another reverie that they hear footsteps.

Cabe glances up quickly, and he’s on his feet as fast as the rest of them when the doctor in the white coat and scrubs approaches.

He’s an elderly man, somewhere in his sixties, with thick-rimmed glasses, silver streaks in his otherwise dark hair, and a firm look about him. He isn’t two meters into the room when Happy reaches him-

“How is he?”

Sylvester and Toby are right beside her, and Ralph is clutching Paige’s hand like a lifeline, something the agent thought he’d never witness. But that’s all he’s able to decipher because suddenly his palm have begun to sweat and his heart is seeing fit to beat so hard it may as well rip through his chest.

He can feel the nervousness and anxiousness of being pent up in the confined room with no news whatever heightening. His mouth is suddenly remarkably dry and he instinctively swallows, stepping by the group and ensuring his voice isn’t shaking when he says,

“Doctor?”

The man surveys them for a single moment before replying, and they all hold their breath.

“Mr O’Brien lost over a quarter of his blood count. The bullet pierced the flesh in his torso almost diagonally, cutting through the muscle tissue of his abdomen in a slightly upwards direction. This caused the bullet to graze one of his ribs, coming into dangerously close contact with his right lung.” His pause has them all leaning forth because _god_ , “ _thankfully_ , the bullet only brushed against it. We were able to stich the organ and remove the bullet through a surgical incision as there was no exit wound.”

Immediately, Cabe feels something tight in his chest uncoil. Hearing those words was like a weight removed from his shoulders, and he let out a calm, very, _very_ glad breath. He quickly brushes his hand of his face and runs it through his hair,

“Oh thank god,” Sylvester says with such a light tone it was as if he’d been handed the best respite. He grins and rubs at his eyes from behind his glasses, not attempting to hide the moisture that had collected around his eyelashes this time.

The doctor gives them a moment, and the relief was remarkably evident in the air. Happy’s shoulder’s slouched from the permanent state of tension and anxiety that had held them stoically up, and she leant a little towards Toby. The behaviourist let out a grateful sigh and Cabe could see one of the few very genuine smiles grace his features. He hangs his head and it was like someone had taken their foot off his chest, like he could finally breathe again.

Paige looks happy, reflective of her son’s emotions- the most obvious Cabe had seen the boy portray thus far. Both Paid and Ralph seem equally as glad and relieved and the agent even noticed Ralph wiping one of his eyes on his mother’s sleeve.

Paige smiles a little more,

“That’s great, oh goodness, that’s- that’s great. Walter’s fine. He’ll be okay.” It was like it was the first time they’d heard the words, because Happy now supported a grin like the rest of them. Even Cabe could feel a smile itching at his lips. “You hear that Ralph?” The ex-waitress looks down towards her son, “Walter will be okay. Isn’t that great?”

The boy nods fervently, but it almost like he didn’t trust his voice to speak.

Toby readjusts his hat, and from the gratuitous look in his eyes, one couldn’t even guess that not six hours ago he had held his best friend as he lay bleeding from a hole in his chest.

“So when can we see ‘im Doc?”

The doctor takes a moment to straighten his coat before replying, a light smile touching his own lips to mirror the relief palpable in the waiting room.

“They’ve moved him to ICU in the North Ward now. I’m afraid this means he’s still considered to be in critical condition-”

“But you said he was _alright-_ ” Toby shakes his head as he interrupts,

“What I _said_ was that the surgery was a success.” He pauses to look at all of them carefully, “Now he’ll have to spend a day or so in the ICU for recovery where they can better monitor his progress and ensure there are no chances of his condition degrading, and that there are no post-op complications.” The news dulls the relief for a strong moment but the Doctor continues, “You will be able to see him, but only once he’s been moved out of ICU. He’s hooked up to more machines than you can count, and the situation is still too sensitive to be tainted by untrained personnel.”

No one says anything this time, but the tension is beginning to grow again, and Cabe knows it won’t fully dissipate until they see Walter alive and well with their own eyes.

The doctor lets out a short breath before continuing, his eyes addressing every member of the team,

“It’ll be a while before you get to see him. I recommend you all go home and get some sleep-” Happy looks like she’s about to object, but the elderly man just continues, “shower, change. You’ll be no good to anybody dead on your feet.” He looks squarely at Cabe now before he continues, “I’ll have a nurse call you once you’re able to visit.”

That established the end of it. Ten minutes later they were all heading the cars, an Agent having dropped off Paige’s vehicle to the hospital. It was agreed they would do as the doctor had suggested, with light hearts and relief in their eyes. They would shower, change, sleep away their exhaustion and see a new day tomorrow. And then, they’d see Walter.

They’d see Walter alive and breathing and not covered in blood with a bullet in his chest. That was a miracle if Cabe’s ever seen one.

*

Cabe gets the call at seven the next evening. Twenty minutes later, he’s got a car full of geniuses and Paige is on her way with Ralph to meet them at the hospital.

When they get there, they are lead down past the antenatal word and into one of the Southern wards. The nurse who leads them is stern and articulate when she asks them not to wake the patient, and to _please be careful with the equipment._

Sylvester’s the first one through the door, and Cabe watches as he pauses momentarily by the entrance, seemingly phased by something- shoulders frozen and tense in motion. It’s when he peaks over the genius’s right shoulder that he realises just what’s wrong, and he’s already rubbing one hand across his features in a futile attempt to beat away the headache pounding behind his eyes.

“Please don’t make too much noise,” the nurse asks quietly as she walks away, “He’s only just gotten out of recovery. He’s still got a long way to go.”

And when Cabe looks at the scene in front of him, that much is obvious.

*

What Sylvester sees makes his heart jump to his throat, and his chest to constrict a little. He knows he couldn’t have expected Walter to be totally okay, but this- this catches him off guard so much he has to lean on the doorway slightly to keep his legs from becoming lead.

Walter’s pale. As pale as the bed sheets he’s resting on. And god, if Sylvester wasn’t glad for the short, dutiful beeps of the machines by the bedside which told him the genius was really, truly alive. His hair was tousled and fell limply across his forehead and the white pillow, eyelashes dark in contrast to the ash of his flesh. He’s hooked up to countless machines, needles in almost every part of his left arm. His torso is tightly wrapped in thick bandages which cover the scar Sylvester knows he will find, and he’s lying utterly motionless. The rise and fall of his chest is almost imperceptible, and his breaths are so shallow and light.

God, Sylvester thinks, _he looks dead._

Lying in the middle of the large bed, Walter looks so small and vulnerable. He looks young too, Sylvester realises, as young as he truly is. The genius has to remind himself that when Walter isn’t busy solving problems and helping people, that he’s as young as the rest of them, and goodness if he didn’t look it right now.

Sylvester cautiously takes another step into the room, followed by the rest of Scorpion. Now that he’s closer, he can see the spots in the bandage that have been dyed a light pink from the stains of Walter’s blood. Shadows reside beneath his eyes and his lips are as pale as the rest of him.

It’s worrying, but it’s something, and Sylvester will take it. It’s something because Walter isn’t soaked in blood trying to breathe through a constricted throat because he’d been shot in the chest by a madman. This is temporary, Sylvester tells himself. He’ll get better. He has to.

“Jesus.” Toby’s voice breaks the silence, and it’s like Sylvester has only just noticed the others were in the same room as him.

“This isn’t what I’d imagined when they said he was getting better.” Happy says quietly with a slight shake of her head as her eyes take in Walter’s form.

“He’s better than he was yesterday morning.” Gallo mumbles in reply. “And he’ll be better when he wakes up. This is going to take a lot of time, and energy, but he’ll be brand new eventually.” The statement is light-hearted and hopeful, but despite the comfort, Sylvester can’t help the pressure that’s suddenly on his chest.

Paige, ever so optimistic, nods-

“Yeah, he will be. He’ll be just fine, won’t he?” She aims the question at her son who looks just as frozen as the rest of them. The poor boy’s gone pale and his eyes had begun to shine a little.

“He will.” Ralph replies heavily. His gaze hasn’t moved from the scene, and Sylvester can’t quite imagine what he’s thinking right now.

Looking back at Walter’s still form, covered in bandages, lifeless if not for the machines beeping steadily by his side, however- he thinks he might be thinking the same.

*

They all take turns by the bedside, holding that cold, cold, limp hand and whispering things they know Walter can’t hear. When it’s Paige’s turn, her voice breaks a little and it feels like they’re back in the mall all over again.

“Hey Walter,” she’d begun so steadily, “you should wake up soon, real soon.” This is when her tone becomes heavier, and her shoulders slump forth. “You know why? Because Ralph still needs your help with his coding, and you need to come back to us. We need you to be Scorpion, again.”

No one says a thing after that, or when they’re ushered from the room at eight when visiting hours are over.

“He’ll be awake tomorrow,” the nurse leading them from the ward assures, “you’ll be able to talk to him then.” She’s young, Sylvester notes, and has a touch of empathy in her tone they could all do without right now. “Must suck, huh?”

Beside him, Toby blows a short, disbelieving breath,

“You have no idea.”

*

The first time Walter wakes, Toby’s there.

It’s the next day, and they’ve all been at the hospital since the beginning of visiting time. In the last few hours, they’d all agreed to take turns sitting by Walter’s bedside so that he’d never be alone, especially when he awoke.

And so, he did.

Toby had been leant back on the cushioned plastic hospital chair, cradling Happy’s copy of _The Hungry World,_ when he’d heard it.

A soft breath out of tune, a quickening of the machines which had previously beat so steadily, a ruffle of sheets as Walter’s fingers subconsciously clutched them tighter as he was drawn from the throes of unconsciousness.

Toby sits up quickly, book lying forgotten across his lap as Walter shifts a little more and his eyes flutter open- glazed over with pain and confusion.

He’s up and by his side immediately, quickly pressing the button to call the nurse as he’d been instructed to do.

He freezes a little when Walter tilts his head and his gaze lands on Toby, a question in his orbs,

“Toby?” His voice is soft and heavy with dryness and sleep. The word chokes him a little, and Walter tilts his head to the side as he releases a series of dry, painful coughs which rake his lithe figure so much they leave him breathless.

Toby doesn’t waste any time in pouring cold water from a jug by the corner into a thin cup with a straw. He leans over Walter’s pale form and tilts the drink so that his friend only has to raise his head slightly to reach it.

Walter drinks quickly, but Toby pulls the straw away before the genius sends himself into another coughing fit. He leans across the rails of the hospital bed and watches with great concern as Walter’s hands move to his abdomen and his features seize in discomfort.

“Hey, Walter- you okay man?” It feels like such an inadequate thing to ask, but it’s the only thing his mind is supplying him with right now. Walter’s finally awake, and god, if this isn’t the best feeling in the world right now.

Walter lets out another short breath before focusing his gaze again. Toby notes with caution that he hadn’t removed his hands from where his wound lay beneath the bandages.

When he speaks this time, his tone is clearer though still laden and tight with exhaustion and a tinge of pain,

“What happened?”

For a moment, Toby fears that Walter had forgotten everything that had occurred in the mall.

“You were shot.” There’s a pause when neither of them say a thing more, but it seems they don’t need to.

Realisation floods Walter’s dark orbs and he looks up at Toby like he’d just been struck by memory. He nods a little but winces like he’s sporting a headache of some sort, and Toby refuses the urge to look around and yell for the nurse to hurry up.

“Richtor…” Walter trails of, but suddenly looks alarmed, “The Governor- is he-?”

“He’s fine, he’s okay.” Toby quickly reassures him, “No one- no one else was hurt.”

The answer seems to satisfy the other man for a moment and he nods slowly this time. “Thank goodness.” The relief is evident in his tone when he responds.

The air is filled with something like a strange finality, and Toby sits back down on the uncomfortable chair slowly.

“Are you in pain?” He asks, feeling the need to fill the silence with something. From the way Walter’s shifting and clutching the sheets with his left hand, it looks like he needs the distraction.

Instead of directly answering the question. Walter forces a strained smile soaked in discomfort,

“Never been shot before.” Toby just shakes his head bitterly.

“You never should have-”

He’s interrupted when the nurse enters. It’s the same one as yesterday, young and smiling and far too empathetic for her own good. She spends a few moments smiling at Walter from beneath her long lashes, explaining the situation to him, and telling him which button to press to up his morphine.

Walter quietly thanks her when she finishes, and she responds by telling him to call anytime he required anything.

When she leaves, Toby bites his tongue and wishes he’d never said a thing earlier.

“I should call the othe-”

“Never should have what?”

The behaviourist silently curses at Walter’s perceptiveness. Even freshly woken and drugged to the gills, the man knew him almost better than he knew himself.

Toby shakes his head,

“It’s not important. What’s important is that you’re okay now-”

“Toby.” Walter’s quiet, imploring voice breaks through his barriers and Toby sighs in defeat. In the moments he’s preparing what to say, Walter uses the remote on the bed to leaver himself upwards so that he isn’t lying down completely.

Toby forces the pangs of concern which beat through his veins every time Walter winces to quiet, and rather focuses on answering the question he knows won’t be let go.

“You should never have been shot.” Walter waits for him to continue, so he does. “You should never have been in that position. We should have done something, anything. I should have been faster, I should have-”

“ _Toby_ ,” his head snaps up at Walter’s exhausted and slightly disbelieving tone, “this wasn’t _your_ fault.”

Toby just shakes his head,

“I should call the others. They’ll want to know you’re awake.” He moves to pull his phone from his pocket when the other genius speaks again,

“You couldn’t have stopped this Toby; no one could have _stopped this._ ” Toby takes to finding the right contact on his list and ignores the blurriness at the corner of his vision. “You _saved me_ , Toby.” That snaps his head up.

Walter doesn’t pause.

“You and Happy- I remember what you did. You stopped me from bleeding out in that mall. You _saved_ me.”

The phone trembles a little in his hold when the behaviourist meets Walter’s glazed gaze again.

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for. Just-” he shakes his head, “thank you.” There’s something in Walter’s voice that Toby just can’t decipher right now. He concentrates on keeping the blurred lines in his sight straight. “Thank you, Toby.”

Toby just nods, barely able to find his voice for the moment.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Walter. I’m just… I’m just very glad you’re okay. You really had us worried there for a sec,” Toby’s tone is light, though his words are all but heavy- like he’d just spoken the understatement of the year. “Just, you know,” he finally manages to dial the correct number, “don’t make a habit outta this.”

When Walter lets out a light, choked laugh at that, so does Toby, and it finally feels like he can breathe again.

*

When visiting hours are over, no one wants to say good-bye.

Everyone had rushed over to Walter’s room after Happy had gotten the call from Toby. The relief of seeing the genius awake and talking again was incredible, and it was a feeling no one wished to be deprived of again.

The Governor had also visited after Gallo had called him with the news, and personally thanked every member of Scorpion with remarkable gratitude and flashy pay-checks they couldn’t quite accept.

“Please just, donate them, give them away, whatever- it’s just the least I can do for you all.” He said once Walter had protested, before leaving and wishing them all the best.

No one wants to go, when eight o’clock nears again, but they were grudgingly forced to say their goodbyes by the nurses. They all sat by Walter’s side and spent their energy downplaying their worry, panic, fear and concern- not mentioning how close they had come to falling apart. Walter seemed overjoyed that everyone was alright, and that Richtor had been stopped, regardless of the price it cost him.

Sylvester ignores the nagging worry in his mind and concentrates on Walter as he smiles and jokes as before, colour finally returning to his features. He looks so much better now, brighter, more alive. His voice and his reassurances ground them, and hell if it wasn’t exactly what they’d needed all along.

When they finally have to go, Walter exchanges words with all of them. The nurse which had come in earlier to check on his IV and state had said that he’d be staying for a few more days- to which Walter had protested only to be shut down by five concerned adults and one objective child.

Happy steps up first, shoulders slumped forth and shadows beneath her eyes. She looks at Walter seriously for all of two seconds before breaking into a smile.

“If you do that again, Walter, I’ll kill you myself.” The genius had just smiled and nodded, letting out a humorous _alright Captain_ , before quietly saying,

“Happy- thank you.”

Paige’s holding Ralph’s hand when she leans forward and places a gentle kiss on Walter’s forehead. Sylvester imprisons his chuckle between his lips when a light blush colours Walter’s pale cheeks and he glares at him.

She doesn’t say much, but for once, Ralph does.

Much to everyone’s surprise, the young boy quickly leans forth and hugs Walter tightly. The genius expertly hides his wince and instead takes to stroking the Ralph’s hair,

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Walter smiles and looks up at Paige. Sylvester doesn’t have to be a behaviourist like Toby to notice the fond, affectionate and overjoyed look she’s gazing at Walter with. Her smile tells him everything.

Toby only steps up and says,

“Walter- thanks. For earlier.” Sylvester doesn’t quite know the story there, but he feels like he doesn’t need to. He’s just so glad everyone’s alright, that everything’s fixed again.

Gallo is more straightforward.

“Walter. What you did for the Governor was commendable. I’m very glad you’re alright. Concentrate on getting better so we can have you back and helping people, hey?” Walter smiles a thanks, and then Sylvester is left with the genius in the room.

He takes a step forward, but Walter speaks before he’s able to-

“Sylvester, Hey…” there’s something uncertain in his tone that makes the Human Calculator freeze, because it sounds like hesitance and uncertainty. If Walter’s never been one thing, it’s unsure. “I shouldn’t have yelled earlier. You’re the bravest person I ever met. That girl would have died today without you.”

Sylvester freezes. He’d forgotten all about that, all about anything that had happened before Walter had been shot- but this…

He rakes his mind for something to say that’s about to convey how grateful and humbled he feels to hear Walter say something like that to him. Only one thing does.

“Without… us.”

Walter smiles, and it lights up the entire room. Sylvester finds a grin on his own lips when he leans over and they knock fists.

“Get some sleep, Walter. You need to get better. We need you.”

Walter just smiles again and nods,

“I will.”

When Sylvester leaves with the others, his heart doesn’t feel heavy and his throat isn’t constricted. There was no more anxiousness, or fear, or _red._ For the first time in what feels like forever, he thinks things might just be okay.

They were Scorpion- a _cyclone,_ a _family._  They were together, they were alright, and right now, that was all that mattered.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed Folks. I'd love to hear any thoughts in the comments, and I'll soon be posting more for this fantastic fandom.


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